


The Dragon and the Illyrian

by Turtle_Steed



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Illnesses, Lots of plot, M/M, Next Generation, blood rite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-12-09 01:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_Steed/pseuds/Turtle_Steed
Summary: Join Adrien, son of Rhysand and Feyre and Isla, daughter of Aelin and Rowan on their journey as they try to save their world's from the strange illness, the Fatigue that is haunting both of their lands. This is a eventual romance mixed with lots of plot as well, from two POV's. It's the next generation of TOG/ACOTAR mixed with some of our favorites.There is going to be illness, eventually some romance, and lots of sassy flirting.  Maybe even some smut :O But it's going to take a while.





	1. The Blood Rite

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, welcome to my story!
> 
> Be forewarned: This is a story with lots of OC, mostly the children of the people we know and love from ACOTAR and TOG alike. Don't worry, you will be seeing plenty of the people we already know and love as well, but this story isn't about them.
> 
> I've been thinking about this story for days, and it will be skipping between the son of Rhysand and Feyre named Adrien, and the daughter of Aelin and Rowan named Isla. I am in love with them, so I hope you will be too.
> 
> Everyone, please meet Adrien.
> 
> Buckle up, it's going to be a long ride.
> 
> Leave me some love!
> 
> TurtleSteed

Ramiel Mountain was a cruel son of a bitch if Adrien had ever seen one. The Blood Rite was specifically completed in the early spring of the year, once the mountain released its unyielding hold on winter's cold snows and winds, but as the chill sank down deep in his bones he wondered if it had started particularly early this year. It was said that Ramiel Mountain was the spot that the winged god of the Illyrian's, Ramiel fell from the heavens above after being expunged by his lover, Cleo. Hence, the mountain was missing its top from his impact. There, an onyx monolith had been built as a testament to the god, the First of the Illyrians according to myth.

Honestly, it was more likely that the mountain was the skeleton of an ancient, dormant volcano that had once blown off its cap during an explosion, if any of the books in the great library of Velaris were correct. And honestly, Ramiel was probably some pompous Illyrian fool with the power to control minds. Maybe an ancient ancestor of the first High Lord's, as no one really knew of the family of Uther, the first High Lord of the Night Court. But, Adrien digressed, deciding it really didn't matter who Ramiel was or why this mountain was important. What was important was finding his sister and cousin before anyone else could. And maybe, finding a place to hunker down tonight that would keep him warm and keep him from getting killed.

It was his second day under the watchful eye of this god-forsaken mountain and thus far it was the coldest. The first day, he had started in the early morning, kissing his violet eyed sister on the forehead and clasping hands with his cousin as they promised to find each other. Then, they had split off being forced as far away from each other as possible if he had to guess. The Illyrian's were not overly fond of their High Lord, or his remarkably less than Illyrian family. He was sure the orders to spread them out had likely come from Tariel, the lord of Ironcrest, one of the Illyrian camps that his father suspected to be the leader of a rebel group who seemed determined to separate Illyria from the rule of the Night Court. They weren't in an outright war, but whispers of unrest and revolution had been echoing through the forest since before Adrien was born.

Regardless, Adrien was thankful that he was given permission to complete the Blood Rite, the final step towards becoming a true warrior. He had proven himself on the fields of the camps for nearly seventy years, he had supped under their halls, eating their food, drinking their beer, enjoying some of their women… and he was sick of his pale skin. He would earn the tattoos that marked him as a true warrior if it was the last thing he did. He had been given permission to complete the Blood Rite along his with cousin, Elias when he turned the age of eighty and Elias seventy-five but refused up until this year to compete. Livana had argued with him, but as the girl had kicked his ass more times than he could remember he knew she deserved the right of becoming a true Illyrian warrior more than he did. He had refused to complete it unless she was at his side.

He was still shocked that the stern, woman-hating, grey-eyed warlord Devlon had been convinced. He had wondered what changed. Women had been training in the camps since his parents mated, but the real training had only just begun in the past fifty years as his sister, Livana grew. Livana had always been one to keep up with him, wanting to train with him from the time she could walk. His father, with only feeble arguments with his mother had dropped him off in Windhaven the moment he had learned to walk and feed himself. Livana hadn't join him, by order of his mother, but as soon as Livana had began to talk she demanded that she join her older brother in the war-camp.

Once Livana arrived, things began to change quickly. His father and mother visited regularly, sometimes even staying in a house in the heart of camp with Cassian and Nesta. Being High Lord and High Lady, they couldn't stay the way his aunt and uncle could stayed in the war-camp continuously. But, for the most part, Adrien and Livana were raised by the dirt that settled in their skin, the snow that stuck in their dark hair and the wind under their wings. Adrien remembered vaguely as a child the few women who would be out in the training fields, led by Uncle Cassian and Aunt Nesta themselves. Only a few would come to train, the women fearful of their General and their husbands and mates. Though clipping had been outlawed for years, there were still women who walked with the scars of their mutilation.

The children of the High Lord were not given special treatment, their cloths and food were the same as everyone else. But, when Livana had grown old enough to train with the others, things changed quickly. Nesta and Cassian pushed her harder than everyone else, and Livana met their demands with vigor. She had always been a competitive little bird, and she was determined to beat her brother as she reminded him every night as they ate their stew in front of the fire. Around the age of forty, when Nesta was satisfied with how the girls fought on the ground, they had set up a duel between the boys and girls of similar age.

Livana, twenty-five years younger than him and one of the smallest of the females with her High Fae blood, defeated them all, one by one. At the end of the duel, it had just been Adrien and Livana left. Determined not to be beaten by a girl, he had fought back against her with ferocity, but he barely remembered the fist that had had knocked out his front teeth. Madja had to be called to examine him and replaced his teeth to his insistence and to the amusement of the Illyrian boys. After Livana had proven herself, she established herself as the strongest Illyrian female in history. No longer would Illyrian females hide behind their men, not if Livana had anything to do with it.

Regardless, it took nearly ten years after Cassian had told her there was little more he could teach her, and nine years of her training the other females alongside Nesta before Devlon agreed to let her complete the Rite as well. Devlon, leader of Windhaven, probably disliked them the least of all the war-lords. However, he would always remember the day his father, demanding Adrien the right to become a warrior was silenced with, "He is barely one-fourth Illyrian, High Lord. He is lucky he even has the wings."

His father had nearly lost it that day, but Adrien had calmed him with a hand on his shoulder. "I will earn it, father. I will prove myself worthy, day and day again, until I can no longer be deemed unworthy," he had told him. And he had.

Later, Devlon had just nodded numbly as he asked, the blood of the other male warriors staining his skin. He had beaten them all, including Devlon's son using nothing but his fists, even as the others had used their siphons again him. Adrien wasn't sure he would even be able to use the siphons as the others were, but he would find out after he completed the Blood Rite. Livava would find out too. She still could kick his ass, and now that they were both fully grown he knew they were a pair that could destroy the fabric of the earth if they wanted to.

He wasn't sure what Livana had done this year to finally convince Devlon to allow her to compete. He suspected it might have something to do with a greenish look on Lucas's, Devlon's sons, face he had several days after a night Livana had returned late from the tavern. Regardless, he knew she could fend for herself and he was pleased. Finally, she would get what she deserved. And after she beat this Blood Rite, the first Illyrian female in history to complete it, things would be changing. There could be little argument that females were the inferior sex, not when Livana could kick the ass of any male who got her in way.

They just had to survive the cold of the mountain, not starve to death, nor get killed by the other Illyrian's competing and get to the top of the mountain, with their wings tied, no powers allowed to be used, and nothing but the cloths on their back. Illyrian's were a strange people to Adrien sometimes, but he felt the call to wildness as well.

Adrien shifted his wings, hating how the ties rubbed against the sensitive membrane. If he really wanted, he could use the dark power gifted to him by the night to cut through his bonds but that would be cheating. Adrien wasn't going to do a single thing that would cause others to accuse him of interfering on their ancient ceremony that would finally prove him warrior. He sniffed the wind from his perch in a pine tree, overlooking an empty field covered in a few inches of morning snow. The sun had just risen, and the stirring of birds and small animals echoed around the forest, muffled by the snow. East, he had to head east. Elias, his cousin, best friend and practically brother, had taken one look at the mountain before them as they jogged to the meeting point of the war-camps in the valley of the mountain and looked at Livana and Adrien as they jogged behind him. "East," he spoke quietly, looking around for listening ears.

So, east it was. There he would meet his sister, his cousin and together they would head up the mountain to reach the monolith. After a shot of pure red Illyrian power shot into the air from the top of the mountain, he had sprinted east until his lungs burned in the chilly air. When Adrien had stopped running, he sniffed the air carefully until he found what he was looking for. Ash, a tree that would allow him to make weapons for more than just wacking people. The Illyrian's, while not High Fae, were still immune to most weapons unless laced with ash. It had taken twenty minutes, but he finally scented the musky scent of the tree compared to the sweet smell of pine and conifer around him.

When he arrived, he had taken in the area around him carefully, examining the ground for markings, listening carefully for the sounds of friend or foe. Nothing, he heard nothing, so he approached the ash tree carefully, snapping off three ample sizes of the wood that he could use a rock to carve into a weapon. But, as he had looked around he noticed a nearby branch with bent limbs and pale wood peeking out from where someone had snapped off their own piece of ash.

Panicked, Adrien got low and then sprinted continuously east until he could no longer scent the ash tree in the wind. He hadn't seen a sign of any other soul since then, and had spent the night in a pine tree, carefully moving from branch to branch with a rock in hand so that if someone ventured by they would not notice the pile of ash he left as he carved three ash daggers carefully with a piece of shale. Thankfully, he now had two daggers in either boot and the largest and sharpest on his waist. The night had passed without event, bitterly cold and hungry, but without blood. That was something he could be thankful for.

Now, it was the morning of day two, and Adrien listened for several minutes before jumping out of the tree, his legs bending under him as he landed fairly gracefully for an Illyrian with tied wings. He sniffed, smelling little of note over the smell of the snow and undergrowth, and picked a few blackberries to munch on before heading east. He was moving slower this time, knowing that if he broke a sweat it would be dangerous in the cold, but also knowing he had to keep moving to keep warm.

It was probably around noon before he heard it. He had just hopped carefully across a stream, taking a few sips of clear mountain water, when a shout pierced the air and a _thump_ like something had been thrown into a tree. Adrien shot for the trees before he could think, jumping and climbing a nearby conifer as he listened carefully. He cursed himself for not thinking of covering his tracks, but hearing the shouting grow louder he waited, praying for the wind to blow his scent downwind. He didn't have time for a silly pissing contest, he needed to find his family as soon as possible.

He clutched the branch between his hands, using his wings as a counterbalance, and his grip tightened as an Illyrian form was tossed only a few hundred feet downstream, slamming again into a tree. The male groaned, dropping to the ground into a fighting stance. He was facing away from Adrien, and he could not see his face well enough to recognize him.

Two other forms appeared from the trees behind him, one with wings that were flared out around him, the other gripping a long piece of ash. Adrien felt a sharp flash of fury as he looked at the males, realizing that both of their wings were untied. His blood then went cold as he recognized the bigger of the males, the one with a scar on his cheek and hair pulled out of his face. Mason. The son of Tariel, and a member of their rival war-camp, Ironcrest.

"Now, boys, I don't see why we have to do this. There is room enough at the top of the mountain for the three of us. I know your ego is rather large, Mason, but I can't see why I can't scoot over a little so you can fit your big head past the trees."

Adrien recognized that voice.

"Shut up, half-breed," the male with Mason snapped and they slowly closed in on the male who had been thrown into the tree.

"Hmm. For a half-breed, it's interesting that his wings appear to be bigger than yours, Ping."

Mason and Ping whirled then, just to find that Adrien had jumped from his perch in the conifer to land in the snow several feet from them. He twirled his ash dagger in his hand with skill, smiling softly at the winged men in front of him.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. The half-breed's son. What does that make you? What do we call something that is less than half?" Mason mocked now, pointing his ash sword at Adrien's chest.

Ping sneered, "Insignificant, maybe. A mongrel, absolutely."

Adrien whipped one of the daggers from his boot past Ping's ear, faster than the eye could see. He smiled when it imbedded into the tree above the crouched male's face.

Ping hissed then, gripping his ear which had been shredded in half by the daggers edge. "You fucking-"

The male behind them stood then to his full height and grinned at Adrien with wildness. He looked at him with hazel eyes, and his oddly pale hair for an Illyrian whipped around his face in the wind. Hair that was precisely the same color as his mothers, golden-brown. It was curled slightly, just like his Uncle Cassian's.

"Oh Ping-pong, how ear-itating that must be," the male purred.

Adrien rolled his eyes as Ping lunged for Elias, and seconds later dodged a blow from Mason.

In a matter of seconds, Elias had Ping pinned to the ground underneath him, his ass sitting firmly on his chest while Ping desperately tried to free his trapped wings. Adrien had knocked Mason out with a fist directly behind his right ear. Mason fell limp to the ground, and Adrien was just about to tell Elias to knock Ping out when he felt a warm blade against his throat.

Adrien made a strangled noise, moving to swing his wings to knock over his attack and swing an elbow into their face when the wind changed. Smokey and fresh like the smell just after a storm hit.

He relaxed, grinning and reached up to grab the wrist of his attacker instead.

"Sister."

He turned and Livana's violet eyes met his own, a little smirk on her lips. She looked up at him from nearly a foot below, shorter than even his mother. He didn't know where she got that from, Feyre Archeon wasn't a necessarily small female and his father was tall. Adrien was an inch taller than his father, but Livana was tiny. His father had speculated she was so tiny because of the combination of High Fae and Illyrian genes in females affected them different. Regardless, her height did nothing to affect her prowess.

She had their father eyes, while Adrien had his mother's blue-grey eyes. Their hair both a bluish-black, the typical color of their Illyrian blood. But while Adrien was obviously mixed, his skin pale like his mother, even in the sun, his sister looked Illyrian through and through. Livana had unruly, curly black hair, falling to just above her shoulders so she could pull it out of her face but didn't have to deal with the pain of long hair. Her eyes were the exact shade of night sky above the mountain of Velaris, his family home where they spent most holidays. She had the high cheekbones that Adrien and her both shared with their mother, and their mother's perky nose and full lips. Her skin was at least three shades darker than his own, leaning more toward olive and her face full of freckles.

"Brother," Livana grinned back at him, flipping the dagger in her hand so that he could grab it hilt first. "I see you caught yourselves a few bats."

Adrien turned away from her after examining her thoroughly for injury, satisfied when she seemed unharmed.

Elias growled down at the male trapped underneath him. "What do you want me to do with this little-"

Livana interrupted, "Just knock him out. We don't want him to slow us down."

Adrien pulled his imbedded dagger from the tree behind Elias as he punched him squarely in the jaw and looked down to watch the blood dribble from Ping's nose to mix with the blood on his ear.

Elias stood, nudging Ping away with his foot and adjusting his wings on his back. "Glad to see you finally tracked me down, baby lordlings," he scowled. "These dickwads have been hunting me since about two hours after the signal."

He gave Ping a kick for good measure and Adrien smelled the tangy, woody scent of Elias's blood mixing with Pings'.

"Are you hurt?"

Elias grimaced and lifted his tunic a little to show Livana and Adrien the laceration on his side, dried blood mixing with new as he had obviously reopened the scab in their little brawl. "Nothing I can't handle. There were four of them originally. I put my sword through the chest of one and the other is still pinned to a tree back there somewhere."

Livana raised a singular eyebrow at him.

"Not bad for a half-breed," Adrien smirked, picking up Mason's ash sword and tossing it to Elias.

"How did you find me?" Eli asked.

"I heard you yelling a half mile back. You all were yowling like cats."

Livana tsked impatiently behind him.

Adrien to look at her, examining her. "I'll assume that you have more than a few weapons on you, sister. If not, I suppose I could spare one of my daggers."

Livana grinned at him wickedly and put a hand on her hip, "I made a few blades overnight. Don't worry, I am adequately armed."

Elias grunted. "Do I want to know how many?"

Livana's grin widened, not answering.

"How did you find us, then?" Adrien asked her, starting east again, this time the angle of his path closer to the mountain.

"You males think you are all sneaky as you creep along in the woods, thinking you're as quiet as a mouse, but really you're trampling around like a bunch of cattle."

Elias and Adrien shook their heads and hid their grins.

"Come on then. If we want to beat our dad's times, we need to get a move on. If we move quickly through the night, we should be able to get there by morning." Livana spoke in a sing-song voice, not bothering to quiet her voice.

Adrien shot her a warning look, but he felt her mind brush against his own.

_Let them come. Let them try to tear us apart, and we will show them the meaning of destruction._

They smirked at each other and Elias groaned as he trudged behind them.

"Really, we have been reunited a whole three point five seconds and you two are already doing your mind talking? Can you pretend to be normal for a moment? It's bloody unbearable."

Adrien laughed and slowed to throw an arm over his cousin's shoulder, Livana on the other side with a hand around his waist. "Come now, Eli. You know we could be so much worse."

Like they had done thousands of times before, Livana and Adrien brushed their minds against Elias's at the same time and he shoved them both away. "Ugh. Don't do that!"

Livana's chiming laugh shined through the forest, mixing with Adrien's chuckle.

They moved ahead at a ruthless pace, much to Eli's complaining, but Adrien just looked at it as payback to all the times Eli had pushed him until he wanted to scream while they trained. Adrien ran ahead, finding them a meager dinner of berries and a squirrel he managed to hit with one of his knives as it ran past them. Unfortunately, with the ability to use what little fire magic he inherited from his mother against the rules, and no time to stop to build a fire they all just stared at it as it teased them and he tossed it in front of a bear cave they passed on their way up the mountain.

They encountered other groups three separate times before the night fell, the Illyrian's who rushed towards them both familiar and unfamiliar. Eli, the worst off of them due to the laceration on his side and lack of sleep was placed firmly between Adrien and Livana, and with a few short movements they had knocked out their enemies. They didn't kill, and they wouldn't unless they had to. A death in the Blood Rite was certainly not uncommon, but they weren't interested in starting in any wars between the clans or the Night Court itself. Afterall, Eli had already killed a member of their bands enemy clan, so that was going to be enough fun to clean up.

That night was one of the longest of his life, even with his friendly stars shining above him. It was unbearably cold, and the group ended up huddled for warmth, their wings pressed against each other and their steps short and focused. East, east, east. They had reached the foot of the mountain by the time the moon was high in the sky and each step grew increasingly difficult. The rocks lead upward without mercy, and without sleep or protein Adrien was feeling the effects of the Ramiel Mountain himself.

Livana, the little monster, was unrelenting, pushing them onward through the night. Thankfully, they did not uncover any more Illyrian's in the time between the sun falling and rising. By the time the sun was peaking at their backs, Adrien and Elias were leaning on each other, their breaths puffing out little clouds in front of their faces. Adrien swore that his wings would never be the same once he shook the frost from them. The snow grew deeper, the trees falling out ahead of them as they reached a steep slope. Livana led the way, her wings pressed firmly between their own, a motion that would be inappropriate to most Illyrian's but, god it was so _bloody cold._

It was several hours past sunrise when they reached a cliff, something they all knew was coming but Adrien couldn't help the small groan that slipped past his blue lips as he looked up at the rocky cliff.

Even Livana, who usually was ferocious enough that she would laugh at his misery, had a frown on her lips as she looked up.

The trio looked at each other for a moment.

"If we go off to the right slightly, our climb is about half as long before the next one. And it looks like there may a cliff we can rest on if necessary," Eli spoke quietly.

"It leaves our backs completely open to attack from the south," Livana argued.

"Then one of us stays down here to watch the others back until they get to the top."

"No way. It's all of us or none of us."

"Liv, that's unrealistic-"

"No. I will not leave anyone behind," she snapped.

"Livana…" Adrien started.

"Don't 'Livana' me," her tied wings rustled.

Adrien and Livana stared at each other for a moment, and then he relented, knowing this was a battle he wouldn't win.

"Alright. Eli, you're in the middle."

"What? That's ridiculous. Liv goes in the middle. She's the smallest one of us."

"Precisely. She's our fastest climber, and you're tired and hurt. We both slept the night before; you haven't slept since we left Windhaven."

"That doesn't matter! I'm not leaving Livana on the outside."

"Quit your fighting, boys." A female voice called from above him, and to Adrien's horror she was already climbing the cliff face in front of them.

Adrien and Eli both snarled, and quickly found a place to put their hands, then began the long climb up the cliff, following the fierce little Illyrian female. Adrien kept his wings tucked in as tight as he could manage with the tie around them, hulling his body upward but going slowly so that Eli could get ahead of him.

The wind whipped around their faces, and snow was starting to fall again from the grey sky. Spring, his ass. The only sound was the howling of the wind past their ears, the huffing of their breaths and the scrapping of their boots on the rocks. Elias's foot slipped a few times, and after the third time Adrien pushed his foot up for him as he struggled to find his footing.

Eli glared down at him, his pride wounded, but the exhaustion on his face was impossible to ignore.

Finally, climb after climb, Livana reached the edge of the cliff and hauled her ass over it. He heard Eli's huff of relief above him, and Eli reached up, Livana reaching down to grab his hand to help pull him over when Adrien heard the whistle past his ear.

Eli roared, and he heard Liv scream as she tried to grab him before he tilted off the edge of the cliff. Eli began to tilt back, an ash arrow imbedded in his upper back, just above his last few ribs.

"Eli!" Adrien shouted, lunging forward and his shoulder shrieked as he caught Elias by his left hand. He looked down at him and beyond the contorted face of agony he saw the gleam of a bow from the field below the cliff. He heard the twang of the string, and before he could think an arrow was zipping towards him. He tried to dodge it, but he was holding on to the cliff and on to Eli and his wings were tied-

The arrow slammed through both of his wings as they were tied together, and the agony that rocked his body was like nothing he'd ever heard before.

He heard his roar more than realized he was screaming, and Eli swore as he was swung into the cliffside, that arrow pushing in deeper from the force. When the white stars cleared from his vision, he saw who was holding that ash bow below them, his face spread in a cruel grin.

Mason, with his scar and his cruelty shining through enough to shine.

Adrien growled, gripping the cliff face tighter and started to pull both of them up, using one hand and his two legs to make his way. He was so close, and they were vulnerable to the Illyrian below them until they got up the cliff and away from the edge.

He heard Eli moan again, his body slacking as he fought to stay conscious.

"Eli, I swear to god if you pass out right now, I will not stop flirting with that girl, Miranda, you fancy so much until the only name she moans at night is mine. Wake the fuck up."

Elias chuckled weakly and fought to keep his eyes open. "She would never moan any name but mine, cousin."

Adrien struggled up another step, dodging as an arrow slammed into the rock next to his head. He saw the gleam of a ash dagger shooting past their faces as Livana threw at their attacker.

Liv called down to them from above, "Adrien, if you can just get a little closer I think I can grab Eli." Her voice was full of calm fury.

Adrien grumbled, his bones themselves howling as he forced himself up that rock cliff. Just... one more step.

He huffed, pushing upward until he could see the color of Livana's eyes.

"Ready, sister?"

"Yes, come on," she snapped, her hands reaching down. "Try to help, Elias."

Elias managed to get his feet under him, moaning as his back muscles moved as he tried to fan his wings to get traction.

Adrien braced himself, and with every ounce of strength in his body, pushing Elias into the air. Livana got her arms around his chest just in time, because as soon as Elias was out of his arms, another arrow shot towards him and slammed into Adrien's thigh.

Adrien howled, looking down at the arrow that was already dripping in blood. _Fuck_, that hurt.

Liv had pulled Elias away from the edge, and now was looking down at him with a look of vague panic in her eyes. "Adrien!"

Adrien groaned, and with what little strength was left in his body, hauled himself up over the cliff face. Livana grabbed him by his tunic as he slumped onto his stomach. It felt like his leg was on fire, and his _wings_ he could feel shredded above him.

Livana had already snapped the arrow stem from Eli's injury, and he was looking at them with a pale face and lidded eyes from where he leaned against the next cliff face that await them. She had left the arrowhead in place, knowing if she pulled it he would only bleed more.

"Fuck, Adrien." Livana breathed, looking at him with horror.

Adrien groaned, "Just pull them out, Liv. I'll be fine. You should be more worried about Eli."

Livana growled at him, and without ceremony cut the end of the arrow tip off that impaled both of his wings. He tried not to thrash as each push of her dagger shot searing pain through his entire body. Quickly, it was over, and she had pulled the arrow out in two pieces, leaving what felt like a gaping hole in the membrane closest to his talons.

Eli chuckled weakly, catching Adrien's eyes. "You're looking a bit holey, cousin."

Livana shot him a glare, but Adrien appreciated the effort.

"One day all these puns are going to be the death of me." Adrien promised, and swallowed his scream as Livana braced her leg on his thigh and pulled out the arrow in a single forceful pull.

Adrien took deep breaths of the cold air, hearing Mason call out beneath them, "Come out, little lordlings."

Livana growled, looking up in frustration at the cliff face. Another cliff awaited above them, another cliff below them with an angry Illyrian waiting at the bottom. The options weren't great.

"What now?" Adrien grumbled, his eyes on the paleness of Eli's face. Cassian would never forgive his son if he died out here. He would never forgive Livana or Adrien either.

Livana was silent, but Eli spoke first, "Do you still think you can climb, Adrien?"

Adrien stood then, testing out the strength in his leg. It wasn't great, but his immortal blood had already tried to heal what could be healed without removing the ash splinters he knew were imbedded in his flesh.

"Yes. Though I won't be fast enough to outrun his arrows."

Eli was quiet for a moment, "Liv. Do you think you're strong enough to carry me up with you?"

Livana looked at him in shock, but then her expression changed to something fierce. "Of course. We need something to secure you to me though, I can't hold on to you and climb. Not to mention, avoiding the arrows shooting at my back. You'd be a sitting duck."

Elias spoke carefully now, knowing this wouldn't settle well, "Give me your knives. I know you have at least… seven on you, even now. I can take care of that asshole if you can pull me up with you."

Livana smirked. "More like ten." She began to pull them out from just about everywhere Adrien could imagine, looking away pointedly when she reached into her trousers to pull out another two ash daggers.

"That a girl. Now… you aren't going to like this," Elias spoke.

"Just spit it out."

"You'll need to untie your wings. I won't be able to fit on your back with them pulled together like that, you'll have to spread them out and we will need the rope to tie me to you. I'll do my best to hold on, but I'll need my eyes if I'm to aim."

"No." Adrien said suddenly.

"Adrien-"

"There is no way I will allow my sister to pull you up the mountain face and sully her claim against the Rite by breaking the rules. I can carry you, Eli," Adrien hissed.

"No, you can't. Look at yourself, you can barely stand on that leg, let alone climb up the mountain with me strapped to your back."

"I will not allow her to do it."

"I have seen her do more impressive things than carry me up the mountain face. Don't doubt her," Eli growled now, his hazel eyes pinned Adrian down.

Adrian growled back at him.

"No. Enough." Livana stood between them.

She snapped her fingers, and the binding was gone form her wings, and in her hands. She stretched her wings, and Adrien couldn't help his strangled expression.

"Sister… they will never respect you if you win this way."

She snorted then, pulling Eli to his feet, and turned to see how he would best be positioned, "Brother, I could stop the sun rising in the sky and they would never respect me. This is less about me, and more about them. While I have a cunt between my legs, they will treat me like I am the scum of the earth. Let them hate me, let them call me a fraud. I am going to complete the Blood Rite for myself, acknowledged or not. Now, be a doll and help tie us together."

Adrien frowned at her and limped over to tie them together. The rope was long enough to tie them tightly together, and thick enough he was sure Eli wouldn't break the binding. He positioned Eli so that he was slightly off to the side, able to look back and aim if he wanted to throw daggers, but not so far on her back that he would hang loosely and be unable to help climb.

Adrien said nothing as his sister jerked one way or another, testing the bind. Eli winced with every movement but was putting her knives within his easy reach.

"Alright."

"Alright." Livana and Eli echoed back.

"You know, if we do this today we will have completed the Blood Rite a full day earlier than our fathers."

Livana grinned back at him, and Eli smirked, "Mother will never let him live that one down"

"Archeon blood is powerful stuff." Adrien wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "Alright. So, I will go first so that I can pull you over the edge and help fend him off."

He strolled forward, putting his sisters face between his hands. "If you die, sister, I will go to the Underworld itself and pull you back to our world just so I can kick your ass."

Then, he looked pointedly at Eli. "You two, halfbreed. Us mongrels have to stick together. No one gets left behind."

Eli grinned at him.

Adrien braced himself, finding a good footing and then launched himself up the cliff face with what little bit of energy existed in his bones, wishing for all the world that he could use his powers to push himself up the cliff face faster.

Eli was shouting below him, something he couldn't understand, but he suspected it was a form of distracting Mason.

His leg screamed as he pulled himself upward, and when a hand or a foot slipped, he barely scrambled, just moved methodically to catch the next rock on his way to victory.

An arrow whizzed past his face, but he barely noticed, his eyes only the horizon of that cliff above him.

Soon, he was only feet from the top. And then, inches.

With a whoop, he hauled himself over the top of the cliff, his arms and legs screaming, every inch of his body burning with exhaustion, but when he saw that black monolith gleaming in the whiteness of the snow a wide grin spread across his face.

He longed to run forward, to touch it now, but his sister and cousin were waiting for him and he would not let them down.

Adrien grinned over the edge now, his sister and cousin looking up at him from their perch near the cliff.

"You good?" Eli called.

"Marvelous. Come on, your turn." Adrien called back, his daggers already gleaming in his hands. Ping had joined Mason now, and they were surprisingly tiny at the bottom of the cliff. His head swam for a moment but quickly sorted as he noticed the gleam of their bows in the sunlight.

Liv started up, her face strained and focused as she pulled herself up. It was obviously difficult work, and Adrien knew from experience that his cousin was stronger than he looked. Seeing Mason poised with his bow, Adrien released two of his daggers, one for Ping and one for Mason as Livana made her way off the cliff face. Elias was trying to help her with one hand, his other hand gripping a dagger.

He heard two satisfying thumps as his knives hit their mark, in either shoulder of the males below them. The shriek of their pain was like music in his ears.

Halfway, she was halfway now, and her face was red as she struggled, but her reach was sure, her wings straining.

Adrien heard the grunt before he even saw the shine of the ash arrow in the air.

He looked at Eli, and there was an arrow now protruding from his shoulder. With horror, Adrien looked for the shooter, but he couldn't find-

No. There by the edge of the forest. A third shooter.

With a howl, he let another dagger go, but it was too late. The arrow had entered his shoulder and exited out the other side and the end of arrow had pierced Livana's wing.

He had to give it to her, she didn't scream but he saw the pain in her eyes.

"Come on, Liv. Hurry."

Livana only moaned under her breath, Eli now loose at her back. He had passed out, succumbed to the blackness from a combination of blood loss, exhaustion and pain.

He was out of daggers. He should have taken some of the arrows from Livana's pile, but alas, it was too late.

With relief, he saw a glimmer of blood in the snow deep below them, and Livana dodged a final arrow as she neared his reach.

Another foothold, and he gripped her under her shoulders, pulling her and Eli forward until they were all piled on top of him in a useless heap in the cauldron of the Ramiel Mountain.

Adrien freed himself from under him, unbinding them from where they were tied together and before he could get free, Livana was moaning, "Eli, oh Adrien, we have to help him."

There were tears in her eyes as she looked at the pale form of their cousin, the bleeding holes from the arrows had left streaks of blood in the snow around them.

"We have to get him conscious, touch the monolith and then we can get him help."

Livana looked at him, nodding, looking around for something that would help wake him.

Adrien just grabbed a handful of snow, pressing it to the side of his neck with one hand and slapping his face with the other.

"Ow…" Eli moaned after a moment. "Why you slap me?"

"Wake up, we're at the monolith." Adrien hissed. "Liv, help me get him up."

Together they pulled him, Livana holding a surprising amount of his weight for her small size and the fact that she barely met his shoulder.

As they turned, the black monolith stretched out into the clouds, it's pointed tip brushing against the mist that constantly surrounded the mountain. The snow still fell around them, and the snow was at least a foot deep, making their trek towards the monolith even more fun.

Livana and Eli whooped, just as he had done when they took in the sight, took in the slightly less shiny part of the dark stone from the oils of thousands of Illyrian warrior's hands over the years.

"Finally," Livana sighed. "I've been waiting to see this view for nearly twenty years."

Adrien huffed as he pulled Eli forward, "I for one, imagined it would be less painful and cold."

Eli grumbled, "I can't wait to eat."

Livana snorted, "Really, two arrow holes and a laceration and all you can think about is food?"

They chuckled, and Adrien muttered, "I can't wait to see my bed."

Elias grinned, struggling a foot forward with them both, "I can think of a few other people who have thought the same thing, cousin."

Livana gagged, "Can we not?"

They reached the base of the monolith and together, they looked at each other. Their eyes were cloudy.

"Together?" They spoke all at once, and then smiled at each other.

"No one gets let behind," Eli repeated.

"No one," Livana agreed, placing her hand out in front of her, and the boys placed their hands on top of her smaller one.

Then, at once, they pushed their hands forward until _finally_ they brushed their hands over the cold, black stone of the monolith.

A strange magic filled Adrien, something he had never felt before, ancient and cold with a mind as vast as the universe itself and then just as quickly was gone. Above them, the sky lit up as a bright light shown from the top of the monolith, marking the first warriors of the year.

Done. They had done it.

Elias slumped between them and the sound of flapping wings filled the air.

Adrien only grinned, allowing the victory to fill every aching, exhausted part of him as warlords landed around them. Livana reached for his hand beside her.

Devlon. Tariel. Remus. They all landed with a powerful thump, their wings settling.

"Congratulations," a deep voice spoke behind him. They turned to look at the three figures who were approaching them from behind, their wings settling as they landed.

"Father," Livana cried, rushing forward.

"Father," Elias spoke quietly beside him.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court stood before them.

"Father," Adrien murmured, his heart thudding in his chest.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien, Livana and Eli return home after defeating the Blood Rite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Another Adrien chapter for you. There's probably one more of our chapters before we meet Isla, one of the other main characters...   
Enjoy! This is kind of a fluffy chapter, I hope you all don't mind.

“Father,” Adrien murmured, his heart thudding in his chest.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court of Prythian, stood before them. On his right side, stood Cassian, General of the Night Court’s armies, a legendary Illyrian warrior and husband of Adrien’s aunt, Nesta Archeon. On his left stood Azriel, a tall Illyrian male with hazel eyes and short dark hair. Shadows seemed to cling to him, much as the night clung to Adrien and Livana. They wrapped around his shoulders, traveling up and down his arms and Adrien swore he could feel a soft hum, feel some kind of intelligence in the shadows that clung to Azriel. The shadows were the reason that his father had made Azriel his spymaster. 

His father gripped Livana in his arms, her unbound wings falling to the snow as she jumped into his grip. Blood splattered the white snow where they dipped to the ground. As his father gripped his sister to his chest, her feet off the ground, he grinned over her shoulder at Adrien and Eli. 

“Well done,” he spoke, his voice deep, his violet eyes turned down to look at his daughter in his arms. Azriel nodded in agreement, a small smile on his lips for once. He had his arms crossed across his chest, all seven cobalt siphons on display. 

Adrien felt himself relax, even as he gripped Eli tighter as he struggled to remain conscious. 

“Eli,” Uncle Cassian boomed, strolling past his father in a wide step. A remnant of being worked into mush for all those years trembled down Adrien’s spine in a shiver as Cassian’s own seven red siphons glimmered in the bright light, reflecting off the snow. 

Elias groaned as he tried to support his own weight, his injured shoulder pushing against Adrien’s own, “Father.”

“You’re injured,” Cassian spoke, pulling Elias by the armpits to stand before him.

Adrien shifted so he stood behind Eli in case he went down. Eli put up a good show, but Adrien had seen the amount of blood staining the snow behind them, and the ash arrows still imbedded in his skin wouldn’t allow his blood to clot or his immortal grace to heal him. 

Elias despite himself grinned at his father, gripping his father’s arm, “Perhaps a little. But we still beat your time by more than twenty-four hours.” 

Cassian growled in a playful way as Rhys boomed a laugh behind him and pulled Eli into a hug. Eli stood an inch taller than his father even with his injuries. 

Elias chucked, and in the way Adrien had precisely seen coming, paled and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Cassian grunted as he supported his weight, looking to Adrien’s father in a panicked way. 

“Cass, I’ll winnow him to Madja. He’ll be fine,” his father spoke, strolled forward to lift Eli’s body out of Cassian’s arms. He lifted him like he was nothing. 

Cassian looked at him skeptically but didn’t argue with his High Lord. 

“Leaving already?” called Remus.

“We have much to discuss, High Lord, you cannot leave,” Devlon spoked.

“The girl doesn’t even have her wings bound,” Tariel growled. 

“If Elias doesn’t have the ash arrowheads removed as soon as possible, he will die. I will be back,” his father growled, the night sky shimmering around him. Adrien swore he felt the mountain shake with his father’s voice. “When I return, you are right. We have much to discuss. I am afraid I have to leave quite directly, however, but I expect you will be here standing here waiting to speak with me when I return.” 

And with a clap, Rhys and Elias were gone, winnowed to Velaris. 

A moment walked by as the Illyrian warlords fumed, but Adrien just turned his gaze on his Uncle Cassian as he was pulled into an embrace.

“Couldn’t you have slowed down a bit, kid? You know how your aunt is. I’ll never hear the end of this,” Cassian grumbled in his ear. 

From over his shoulder, Adrien saw Livana stroll forward to grip Azriel’s hand in her own, and he was looking down at her in a way that Adrien felt uncomfortable watching. Something settled uneasily in his stomach as Azriel pulled her into a hug, and Adrien noted the hug was much different to how his father had held her. 

Catching Azriel’s eye from where he had his nose buried in her hair, Adrien felt some satisfaction as he saw the pink color on his cheeks as he pulled away from Livana. 

Adrien chuckled a moment too late, and as Cassian freed him from his grip, Cassian looked at him with a raised eyebrow only to realize where Adrien was looking a moment before. 

Cassian cleared his throat, extending a handout towards Livana, “Azriel, don’t hog the girl. She’s just become the first Illyrian female to complete the Blood Rite in all of history. Liv’s quite the celebrity now, haven’t you heard?” 

Livana grinned at him, her white teeth bright against her dark skin and she shuffled her wings in satisfaction as she moved on to her uncle next. 

Azriel was watching Adrien with an unreadable look, but as Adrien met his gaze, Azriel gave him a small smile and a nod. That was as much as a congratulations Adrien could expect from his father’s spymaster, and still Adrien knew his answering grin was ferocious and triumphant. 

Adrien crossed his arms, straining slightly against the binding that remained on his wings. The place where he had been struck by the arrow ached, and his leg burned as he shifted his weight but the pain didn’t touch his mood. 

Livana brushed her left wing against his shoulder as she hugged their uncle, and her violet eyes met his own from Cassian’s shoulder. It was comical how short she was compared to him, but she was shining. They had done it. 

They had completed the Blood Rite. 

Liv’s mind brushed his own, and as she was released by Cassian who looked at her with a suspiciously shiny hazel gaze, she trudged through the snow to stand at his side. Her hand slipped into his own for a moment to squeeze his hand. 

_We did it, brother._

Adrien smiled, turning to watch the warlords as they spoke quietly among themselves. 

_No, sister. You did it. _

Livana hummed next to him. 

A drift of their conversation caught on the wind, and Adrien heard Tariel growl, “She has her wings unbound. That’s a clear violation of the rules… we cannot possibly call her warrior after she cursed our sacred mountain not only with her gender, but with her blatant lack of respect to the ancestors.” 

Devlon cut in, “She literally carried Elias up the mountain on her back. She undid her wings to strap him to her back. If you mean to take the title away from her, you might as well take it away from him then too.”

Uncle Cassian let out a furious growl, stepping forward with a red haze around his fists.

Azriel cut in, his voice quiet but Adrien knew they all heard him none the less, “That’s enough. You can continue your conversation when your High Lord has returned.” 

They all turned to look at him, Remus and Tariel with furious red faces but as they saw the flickering of shadows and silence seeping from Azriel they clicked their mouths closed. 

Adrien crossed his arms, unable to hide his smirk. 

Livana stifled a giggle, and then flapped her wings in an apparent restless gesture. Adrien wiped the snow she kicked up out of his eyes and looked at her pointedly as she had splattered her blood all over him. 

They didn’t wait much longer before a boom shot through the sky, louder than a thunderclap. 

Adrien blinked and his father stood before him, his bloodied tunic from Elias’s blood now clean again, not a single dark hair out of place on his head. 

Adrien swallowed as the full face of his father’s gaze was turned on his now, his father’s violet eyes catching on the still oozing wound on his bound wings and the blood stain on his thigh. Rhys’s face was remarkably blank as he looked over his injuries, and Adrien gripped his biceps harder as he waited for his judgment.

Livana brushed a wing against his shoulder again, but turned away from them both, turning her gaze on the three warlords with a vicious sort of smirk. 

“My son,” his father spoke, the night sky blowing around him in tendrils. He took a step towards him, and then another, and another until Adrien felt like he was drowning in the face so much like his own. Adrien felt suddenly self-conscious at the five o’clock shadow on his chin, the blood on his shirt, the dirt on his skin. _Dirtiness is a sign of weakness_. His father had once told him as he returned to the house on the edge of Windhaven, covered in mud from a fight with another boy. 

His father said nothing, but his eyes grew warm as he looked into Adrien’s own gray-blue eyes, and he gripped Adrien’s face in his hands pressing his forehead against Adrien’s own. Adrien felt his chest grow tight as his father’s words echoed through him, “I am so full.” 

Adrien slipped his eyes closed for a moment, pride shimmering over every inch of his skin. 

Just as soon as it started, his father dropped his embrace and turned to look at the warlords who glared at the group from the other side of the crater. 

“I assume there will be some argument, so let it out now men. Let it be settled.” His father’s deep voice cut out, cold and commanding. The voice of a High Lord, so different to the tone that he had just heard that he wondered if he had imagined the exchange.

Tariel stepped forward first, his enormous black wings shuffling behind him. His face, like his sons had been scarred. Adrien wondered if it was some kind of tradition in Ironcrest to mutilate each other. 

First, he pointed at Livana, “This _halfbreed_ _female _has broken our traditions by allowing her wings out during the Blood Rite. Not only does she degrade our sacred mountain with her gender, but her lack of respect for Ramiel will tear the fabric of our society apart. Females are not supposed to fight. It’s unnatural.” 

His voice trialed off as Adrien, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel had begun to growl at him lowly the moment he spoke the words _halfbreed_. 

His father just raised a delicate eyebrow at Tariel, “Unfortunately, that is not your decision to make. And I can assure you that by allowing females to fight that your ‘fabric of society’ will be nothing but strengthened. Perhaps if you are so afraid of your females fighting back you should stop raping them, tearing their wings, and ripping their children from their breasts.” 

Tariel just bared his teeth at Rhysand, really an impressive expression from someone who was clearly outmatched. 

“Tariel, I ordered you nearly two hundred years ago to start training your females in the ring and to stop clipping their wings. It’s interesting that I just returned from speaking to one of your females who was just clipped last week.”

“How _dare you_-“

“No, how _dare you,” _Rhysand boomed, his voice knocking the snow from the trees that gathered in the crater. “I gave you a command as your _High Lord_ and yet you disrespect me by blatantly disregarding my orders. Tell me, Tariel, who exactly do you think you are to play such games with me?” 

His father was in Tariel’s face in a minute, his hand wrapped tightly around his neck and Tariel tried to jerk back away from him. 

“Consider this your last warning. Train your females. Do not force them to do chores until _after_ they have trained. And if I find out you trim another set of wings I will personally remove your testicles and wear them in a chain on my neck. Do you understand me?” 

Tariel coughed, his face a brilliant shade of red. When he caught his breath, he stepped back away from his High Lord and grumbled, “Yes, High Lord.” 

Rhys smiled at him, a smile full of the promise of violence and amusement. Then, he turned his gaze on the next warlord. “Remus, what say you?”

Remus, as far as Adrien knew him from traveling occasionally with his father, was a fairly even tempered warlord. Like the others, his distain for females was obvious, and he fought against Rhysand’s rule, but for the most part stayed out of trouble by working outside of the High Lord’s gaze. 

“Her wings were untied. That should be a disqualification. And honestly, I am surprised you even let her participate, Devlon. Foolishness if you ask me,” Remus spoke evenly.

Rhysand’s face only tightened. “Devlon?”

The ancient warlord shifted his feet, crossing his arms, “You know I did not want her to complete the Blood Rite, High Lord. But, unfortunately, I worried for my own son’s health if I let this go on much longer without my consent.”

“So, you would not give her the title either?”

Devlon raised his hand, silencing the High Lord. Cassian snarled at the presumption, but Rhys silenced him with a hand on his own, “I did not say that. She dragged Elias, that giant son of the General, up the cliff face on her own when he was too injured to do it himself. She only untied her wings in order to be able to strap him to her back, and she did not use them as any benefit to help her complete the Rite. So, it is my opinion that we should give the title.”

Rhysand smiled at him, a closed lip smile that did not reach his eyes. “It seems we have a tie then. I too, believe we should give her the title out of the fact that she helped Elias complete the Rite, something that would not have happened if she hadn’t carried him up the cliff face.” 

Tariel snarled, “Outrageous. She has desecrated our sacred mountain with her presence, with her very blood.” 

Azriel growled then, a sound that made them all jump, “Then what has your son and his friend, _Ping,_ isn’t it, done? Their wings are clearly untied from where they stand at the bottom of the cliff.”

“You are mistaken,” Tariel sniffed. 

Azriel smiled at him, an unsettling expression that set a shiver down Adrien’s spine, “I am not.” His shadows seemed to scatter and settle with every breath he took. 

Remus raised his eyebrows behind them, “If your sons are untied then, Tariel, do not think I will grant him the Blood Rite if we are not going to grant it to her.” 

Tariel grumbled, turning to look over at the monolith for a moment. 

Adrien heard Livana shifting her weight from foot to foot next to him as she awaited her fate. 

When Tariel’s answer came, his father was already grinning at him with a cruel smile. 

“I change my mind. I will accept her claim at the Blood Rite.”

Devlon smirked, “Interesting.” 

Livana almost jumped for joy next to Adrien, but then caught herself and slyly folded her wings firmly against her back. 

Devlon strolled forward then and brushed a hand over the black stone monolith. The light around the monolith glowed with a red light then, almost like a red fog and again, Adrien felt the force of that vast mind filling the area. 

Devlon spoke then, “Ramiel, Lord of the Sky, Lord of the Warriors we call upon you. Three warriors have completed our Blood Rite in record time.”

The red light pouring off the monolith almost pulsed then, and Devlon’s voice grew deeper, and Adrien heard his age, “We beg your blessing for glory and victory as these warriors brushed their hands against your stone tomb. Adrien, son of Rhysand and Elias, son of Cassian completed this Rite like their fathers before them, and they will be blessed with the spirit of Ramiel as they take to the skies and fight for our people.”

Livana seemed to deflate next to him, but then Devlon continued, “Livana, daughter of Rhysand, and first female Illyrian warrior begs for your blessing of victory, acceptance and glory as she fights alongside our brothers. She will be filled with the skill of Ramiel, the first god the Illyrians. She will be blessed with ferocity of Cleo, the lover of Ramiel who threw him to the earth.” 

Devlon dropped his hand, and Adrien struggled to breath for a moment as the power of Ramiel pushed over him. He felt his skin crawling, like he was being squeezed through a tube, but after a breath the feeling was gone. 

Adrien dropped to his knee as he tried to catch his breath, and he nearly fell forward as Livana fell into him as she dropped, gasping.

He turned his eyes on her, and as he did, he could not help the tears that pricked his eyes. Her skin, olive and tanned in way that he was not been was now darkened with swirls and markers of glory, the tattoos of a true Illyrian warrior. But hers, unlike any others he had ever seen flickered with a kind of inky shine, like a power was lurking just beneath the markings. They crept down her arms, entwining in her fingers, up across her chest in beautiful dark swirls. 

She turned her violet eyes on him, and the grin she gave him was blinding. He looked down at his own arms, admiring the dark swirls that now covered his arms and as he peaked into his tunic, gathered into a graceful pattern on his chest. 

They both stood then and turned to look at their family. Azriel was looking at Livana like he had never seen her before, his face frozen in a sort of awe. Cassian had a wide grin spread across his face, and their father was looking at them with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you, lords. We will be heading back to our city, but rest assured you will see us again soon enough,” Rhys bowed, and turned towards Adrien and Livana. “Come now. Your mother awaits you, as I am sure Elias is chomping at the bit to show off his tattoos.” 

Their father strolled forward, gripping Cass and Azriel lightly on each arm, and with a wink winnowed, Adrien assumed, back to their home along the Sidra river in Velaris, City of Starlight. The capital of the Night Court. And a home of sorts, although Adrien and Livana had both spent more of their life in the forest of Illyria than in the city of their birth. 

Livana turned to him then. 

“Adrien-“

“Liv-“

They both stopped. 

Adrien spoke then, “You did it. The first female Illyrian warrior. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep up with you now.”

She smiled, and shuffled her wings, “Do you want me to unbind your wings before we go?”

“Oh Mother, yes please,” Adrien turned, and struggled against the instinct to get away from her as he felt her hands pull on the binds. Each movement ripped at the hole in his wings.

“There. Free,” Livana said with satisfaction, and Adrien spread his wings, enjoying the stretch even as the clotted blood pulled on the membrane. 

“Shall we go home, then?” Adrien spoke quietly then. He wondered if his expression shown the uncertainty he felt. Liv had always fit in better than he had, especially in the world of High Lord’s and courts and ruling. Adrien just wanted to curl up with a book, and when he grew unsatisfied with that, he wanted to taste the sky. Maybe he was simple, or maybe he just loved simple things. 

He had never been skilled with talking to his people, nor dignitaries from other territories who seemed to come more and more often since the veil around Prythian had been lifted. Liv had always been better at that, just as she was better at most things. Perhaps the only thing he was better at than her was flying. Or maybe at controlling his powers. But even there, that was only the noncombat part. 

If Livana was cornered, she could talk herself out of just about anything and if she couldn’t there wasn’t a person she had been defeated by yet. 

Liv, reading the expression on his face, nodded for a moment and let the shadows start to pull her to their home, “It will be okay, Adrien. It’s just our home. And we have a victory to celebrate.”

Her white teeth glimmered just before she disappeared with a crack, not unsimilar to their fathers. 

Sighing, Adrien took a long look at the monolith and pulled his own shadows into him before bending the fabric of the earth to pull his form to Velaris. 

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a familiar opal stone foyer. The magnificent front door let the warm light of the sun shine through onto the floor, causing a million tiny rainbows to shine around the room. In the middle of the room a beautiful white pianoforte sat, it’s keys glistening white and black. A staircase lead upstairs to the private part of the house, Adrien’s and Livana’s rooms as well as their parent’s private suite. On the left, behind the pianoforte, a wide hallway with large, open air windows lead to the rest of the house with quarters for the rest of his father’s Inner Circle. 

“Adrien! Is that you? We’re in here!” A female voice called from the large living area to the left of the main entrance to their river house. He would know that voice out of thousands. _Mother. _

Adrien turned, heading into the living area where his family and friends were already spread out across the couches and armchairs. Elias was sprawled out on the couch closest to the fire, his wings spread out behind him and nothing but a bandage across his chest. He was obviously showing off the new tattoos that had shown up moments ago, so similar to the tattoos on his own chest. 

Azriel was talking quietly to Morrigan, his cousin, a beautiful golden-haired High Fae female. Azriel’s siphons were already gone, and he stood in just Illyrian fighting leathers. Mor was dressed comfortably in tall boots, black leggings and a golden tunic that reached to just above her knees. 

Cassian and Nesta had settled on a couch nearby, Cassian beaming at his son from across the room and even Nesta has a small smile on her face, although she looked peculiarly pale and thin. She had sharper features than his mother, but the same golden-brown hair that Eli used to his advantage. 

Livana was already laughing with Amren, a short little she-devil that he supposed could be considered High Fae, although her scent was always a little off. During the first war, she had lost her original body and powers but to Adrien, was the most terrifying person in this room. 

Lastly, Adrien turned his eyes on his parents who were sitting on a loveseat on the far side of the room, watching their family around them. His father had changed into his most comfortable tunic and sat with his wings away in the in-between so he could lean back. He had an arm thrown around his mother, and as Adrien looked at her, he felt his heart stumble. Feyre Archeon, his mother, a human woman turned High Fae by the cauldron himself looked desperately thin and pale, much like her sister. She was beautiful, just as she had always been and the eyes the exact color of his own were looking at him with such joy and pride that he felt his cheeks growing warm.

But… she was so thin. Her sweater was falling off of her shoulders, her knees knobby. Her cheek bones, always high, were now razor sharp. 

When his father saw the look on his face, he caught his eye from where he looked at his mother and subtly shook his head. 

_Later. For now, let us celebrate. _He felt his father’s talon’s brush against the antechamber of his fortressed mind. 

“Mother,” Adrien spoke quietly, briskly approaching her as he used his power to remove the dirt from his cloths and to put his wings in the in-between. Although much of their furniture was made for sitting with wings, they became tedious when so many winged creatures gathered into one place. 

Feyre reached a hand out to him, beckoning him to her, and before he could think another thought he was in his mother’s arms. She smelled like home, and Adrien felt his soul relax for a moment. Home… home always was difficult but his mother and him had always been kindred spirits. He sat next to her so she could hold his hand and touch his face. He tried not flinch away, some teenaged instincts coming back but instead smiled at her genuinely. He had messed her desperately. 

“I am so proud of you,” she spoke, her lips spread into a wide smile. “I am so proud of you and your sister both. Illyrian warriors.” She spoke as though she couldn’t believe it. Sometimes, he swore he could see a glimmer of who she was long before she had had him. Just a girl in a cabin, caring for her sisters. 

Another presence entered the room, following by a red-haired male with strolling steps. 

“Our warriors have returned home!” Elian, his other aunt, announced from the doorway, just as her mate entered behind her. Lucien Vanserra, heir to the Day Court, smiled as he entered. Elain rushed forward, thinner than he had last seen her just like her sisters, pulling Livana into a hug, and then headed his direction. From over her shoulder, he saw Lucien sketch a bow at the room. 

“Elain give them air. I’m sure they have been doing nothing but hugging their family since they got home,” Lucien teased, settling in a nearby loveseat, leaving room for Elain once she was done accosting her niece and nephews. Elain had moved onto Elias, who grunted a little at her embrace but smiled at her fondly. 

“Oh hush. I have _foreseen_-“she giggled, causing the room to roll their eyes, “That you all would be terribly hungry. So, never fear, Nuala and Cerridwen are preparing a dinner at the House of Wind as we speak.”

His father opened his mouth to argue, but Nesta interrupted, “That sounds lovely, Elain.”

Elain waved a hand, sitting next to Lucien on the loveseat and settling with her feet on his lap, her dress spread around her legs. “I know we all haven’t been feeling well, sisters, but that doesn’t mean we can just ignore our family. Maybe the good atmosphere and family will help increase our appetites.” 

The room grew quiet as she finished, and his mother spoke then, “You look radiant today, Elain. I’m assuming you’re feeling better?” Something was hopeful in her voice. 

Lucien went stiff from where he rested with a hand on her bare feet, “We just finished with a healing session. It seems to be helping, but it’s the fourth time this week. We just hoped with…” he trailed off.

Elain rested a hand over her stomach, and suddenly Adrien understood. 

“Tell us what’s going on,” Elias demanded from the couch, his face still pale but it was fierce. 

A moment walked by in which Adrien could only hear the crackling of the fire. 

“Tell us,” Adrien said quietly. 

His mother shifted her weight to lean on his father for support. He knew they were talking mind to mind, recognizing the signs of their silent communication.

“Elian, Feyre and Nesta have been… unwell. Amren, too, had been feeling the effects. Thus far, it seems like the women are the only ones effected by this illness. It started with fatigue and lack of appetite. It’s progressed into… well. Their powers are dimming. Slightly,” his fathers voice was deep, raw. He was staring at a dot in the blue rug that spread across the living area. 

“It seems like Lucien’s healing has been helping, as well as Feyre’s own healing. But the effects don’t appear to be lasting long.”

“Do we know what’s causing it?” Livana demanded, her cheeks were already pink with determination. 

“No. And it’s not just us who are affected. There are some whispers that others in other courts are being affected as well. And maybe not just women.”

“Is it contagious?” Eli asked from the couch, making no movement to get up. His voice was dead calm. 

“We do not think so. It seems to be coming from their magic,” Mor answered this time. Rhys was staring into Feyre’s eyes, and Adrien was suddenly uncomfortable sitting on the same couch as them. Bleh. 

“What are we doing about?” Adrien asked then, his voice quietly calm. 

“There is a meeting of High Lords tomorrow,” his father spoke then. Adrien turned his eyes on him in surprise, “I planned on telling you tonight. You deserve to celebrate.” 

“Is mother going?” Adrien demanded. She was so weak. If she went, the other High Lords who were constantly eyeing their court would know and would target her. 

“No. Just me.” His father was tracing a shape in his mother’s hand, and again, Adrien wanted to look away. He swore, his parents were mates, but sometimes when he looked at them he felt like he was opening his eyes underwater. 

“I want to come,” Adrien spoke, his voice sure. He may not be good at the dignitary stuff, but like hell was he going to sit by while his father fought for his mother alone. 

“Me too,” his sisters voice came from nearby. She was standing at the end of the couch now. 

“I don’t think…” his father’s voice trailed off. Something in his mother’s expression stopped him.

The room was silent, then Mor spoke up, “I think you should take them. You have left them out of the spotlight for too long, Rhys.” 

His father said nothing. 

Finally, a voice came from a surprising place, “They have proven themselves time and time again, Rhys. Just as you did. Let them participate. There may come a day when you are not here.” 

Adrien flickered his eyes, to see Azriel looking not at him, not at his father, but looking at Livana. 

His father swallowed loudly, then spoke, his voice hoarse, “Very well. Adrien, Liv, you will join me. But remember, even now, the other courts do not know us well. You will follow my lead, and do not speak unless I give permission.” 

Adrien felt, more than saw his sister break into a grin next to him, but Adrien just tapped his hand over his ripped pants. Cauldron, he wanted a bath. And why did he demand to go? He didn’t know anything about being a High Lord, about being part of this Court. He was nothing but a High Lord’s son who had grown up amongst winged warriors, and spent the past twenty years fighting, drinking and fucking whoever would walk into his arms. 

“Then it’s settled. If you don’t mind, I would like to get clean before dinner,” Adrien stood then, squeezing his mother’s hand in his own for a moment before he headed to the doorway. “Eli, I swear, put a bloody shirt on. You’re going to blind someone.” Adrien grimaced before heading into the foyer, and up the stairs. 

Before he reached the first landing, he heard Elias call after him, “Speak for yourself brother, these guns are going to be on display until all of Velaris has seen my new trophies!” 

Adrien snorted as he heard Liv gag. 

* * *

Adrien washed like he hadn’t washed before, feeling new and shiny as he climbed out of his bath. His wings were still sore, but once he had used some of his power to push the remaining pieces of ash out of the wound they had almost healed entirely. He stood, examining himself in front of the mirror in all of his nude glory, and even if he would never live up to his father, at least he looked like him. Rhys was known to be attractive across their court, and he even heard Illyrian whispering about him in the camps, a few even carrying carved plates with his likeness. 

He was perhaps a little thinner than his father, but his body was just as cut, his shoulders just as wide, his muscles showing the same power. His eyes were not the sultry violet but instead were a piercing starry blue that he knew could both intimate and devour if he used them properly. But, his new favorite by far were his tattoos. They traveled up and down both arms, across his back to meet at the joints of his wings, creeping down his chest and meeting with two swirls that wrapped around his thighs to meet around his groin. 

He smiled, loving the new markings, and began to pull out favorite tunic and trousers. He picked out a gray-blue tunic tonight, the thread shining in the faelight that lit his dressing room and matched the color of his eyes. They usually liked to go out to drink and dance after family gatherings, and he was not going to hold back on showing off his new tattoos if given the chance. He was pulling on his black boots, when he heard a sudden pounding at his door. 

“Hurry up! I’m starving!” Elias grumbled through his door. 

“Mother’s tits, Eli, I’m coming,” Adrien called and then threw open the door with enough force to make Eli jump. 

“Why does it take you longer to get ready than Liv?” Elias rolled his eyes. He was wearing a deep red tunic himself and had styled his hair so that it curled perfectly on his head. His tattoos were peaking out from where he left his tunic unbuttoned, and he had rolled up his sleeves. 

Adrien snorted, “You don’t get to judge me when you curled your hair like that.” 

“The ladies like it,” he sniffed indignantly. 

“Where’s Liv?”

“Waiting for us in the foyer. The rest of them are already up there waiting on their warriors to arrive. I figured we could make an entrance out of it,” Eli wiggled his eyebrows. 

They made their way down the steps then, and Adrien raised an eyebrow when he saw the shimmering black jumpsuit Livana was wearing. It was cut low in the back so her wings were not caught, coming up to tie in a halter. The front showed a generous amount of cleavage, and her shimmering black tattoos matched the color perfectly. She had styled her hair down for once, and it fell in black ringlets around her face. 

“You can’t be serious,” Adrien grumbled as he looked at her. 

“What?”

“You’re wearing that for our family dinner? Are you trying to convince father to never let you leave Velaris again?” 

Liv glared at him, pursing her lips, “Shut up. Let’s go.” 

Elias was heading for the front door without ceremony, “I’m starving!” he moaned again. 

Adrien grinned as they stepped outside and spread his wings as soon as he had enough room to shoot off into the sky, “Race you!” 

Cussing, Liv and Eli quickly took off behind him, but Adrien was already in the lead. 

There was truly nothing like the wind in his hair, the shining city of Velaris below him, the stars in the sky above him. He felt free, even just for a moment. He could almost forget he was a High Lord’s son. 

Liv almost beat him, but she had built up her speed so that when it came time to land she had to do a lap to slow her descent onto the balcony at their mountain home on the great mountain range of Velaris, the House of Wind. 

Elias landed next to him, fairly gracefully for a male of his size, and Liv soon after with a scowl on her face. 

“You both owe me a drink later,” Adrien mentioned, before stepping into the dining area. Much of their group had already arrived, and Cassian, Rhys, Azriel and Lucien were already on their third bottle of wine if the bottles in front of them were true. Feyre, Nesta and Elain were gathered by the fire in the other room, the thin sisters speaking quietly while the men drank themselves silly. Amren and Mor were no where to be seen, but he could hear the sounds of scrapping chairs in the nearby kitchen. 

When Livana entered the room, Azriel drew the shadows closer to him in a way that he probably thought was subtle, but both Adrien and Cassian shot him a warning look as his hazel eyes stared a little too long at her cleavage. Eli and Rhys seemed oblivious, as Eli had already downed a glass of wine and his father was working on pouring them all glasses of a white wine that smelled vaguely peachy. 

The scent of roasting meat and potatoes drifted through the house, and there was music playing quietly from a record player in the corner of the living room. 

Now this, this was easy. 

Adrien smiled, taking a glass and raising it into the air. The room quieted, and even his mother and aunts stopped talking, Mor and Amren appearing from the kitchen, holding their own red glasses of wine. 

“To the first Illyrian warrior female!” 

Liv raised her glass next to him, “To family that we could never replace!” 

Mor raised her glass then, a smirk on her lips, “To stupid Illyrian traditions!” 

Amren raised her glass then, her silver eyes sparkling, “To arrogant Illyrian bastards!” 

Lucien laughed then, joining in, “Here, here!” 

“Cheers!”

Their celebration was a chorus around the room, which dimmed the moment a new face appeared from the kitchen in which Mor and Amren had just appeared from. It was a short, High Fae female, her hair a short blonde, with fringed bangs and big red lips. She walked forward, somewhat uncertainly, but her blue eyes looked only at one person. 

Mor raised her hand for attention, and everyone rested their eyes between Mor and the new female, who now had a hand wrapped around Mor’s waist. 

“Everyone, this is Tiana. She’s my mate,” Mor spoke quietly, her face a little red as she spoke, but the girl next to her preened. “She’s actually from the Autumn Court and… I’ve known for a long time. But here we are.”

The room was silent for a minute. Lucien cleared his throat, and his wink was apparent as he looked Tiana. Of course he would know her, Lucien knew _everyone_.

His father stood, approaching the smaller female who seemed to pale when she realized the High Lord of the Night Court was focusing his entire gaze on her. 

He stopped just before her, before sketching into a deep bow, taking one of her hands and placing a kiss on the top of it, “Welcome to the family, Tiana. I apologize for my family’s uncivilized behavior, we can be a bunch of fools, but I promise that you will always be welcome among us.” 

Tiana gave him a small smile, holding his gaze before speaking with a surprisingly strong voice, “Thank you, High Lord.”

“Please, call me Rhys,” his father grinned, and shoved a glass of red wine in her hand. 

She raised her glass to him and tipped it back in cheers. 

Adrien didn’t miss that Azriel’s eyes lingered on Tiana, and then to Mor for a little too long, and he also didn’t miss the small nod in Mor’s direction when she caught his eye. 

“Can we eat? I’m half starving,” Eli complained, interrupting the moment. 

Nesta entered the room then, followed by her sisters, rolling her eyes at her son. 

His father grinned then, waving his hand and settling next to his mother who settled in her usual seat next to Mor, but leaving enough room for Mor’s addition to their family. Enough food had appeared on their table to feed a small army, and Adrien watched his family eat quietly. Content. 

His mother was eating much less than she used to, but her color looked better, and her face lit up when she explained to Tiana about her painting therapy and her collection of art work. Even Nesta looked better and looked at Eli with such pride that Adrien felt somewhat jealous. Liv and Azriel were talking a little too quietly for his liking, but he had long learned not to medal in her affairs unless he wanted to get a knee to the groin. 

So, he dug into his food, admiring his new tattoos every time he looked down at his hands and felt inexplicably happy, despite what awaited them tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.


	3. Deserve It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. In my defense Christmas hit me like a ton of bricks and I started a new job the week of Christmas... I know it's not much of an excuse but please forgive me! 
> 
> This next chapter is a bit of a set up chapter, and I may have lied (I think there will be one more Adrien chapter before we meet Isla). But, the good news is that I have some of Isla's chapters already written!
> 
> But without much more ado, enjoy.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _Shit. Shhhh-“ _were the first sounds Adrien could remember hearing this morning. They were spoken quietly, and not from his own mouth, but they cut through his mind like a knife. Keeping his eyes shut, he began to assess the damage, moving each muscle and then each extremity inch by inch. He let a small groan escape his lips, recognizing the ache in his back and his knees and his shoulders as the punishment from indulging in perhaps just a little too much wine. He was thankful for the cool wood underneath his left cheek that seemed to help anchor the spinning in his mind, but he wasn’t thankful for the ache the floor left in his bones. _What had happened that night? _

Carefully, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of his hangover, he rolled over onto his back. He willed his folded wings into the in-between and willed his stomach not to betray him. He flopped an arm over his eyes, and very, very carefully began to crack them open to examine the room. He needed to figure out who he needed to silence to stop the pounding of his mind. He groaned again when his eyes burned as he cracked them open, noting the patterned rug off to his right, and recognizing the black velvet of the couch that settled in the foyer space between his room, Liv’s and Elias’s own rooms. Good. So at least he was in his own home. It was rare he woke up elsewhere, but he never knew where the night would lead when Eli was involved... 

He sat up then, slowly, and grimaced slightly as his stomach turned. Too much wine. Today was going to be fun, in the loosest form of the word… at least his knee and wings had healed completely since his venture on the mountain. As Adrien sat up, he finally noted where the voice that woke him up was coming from. Elias stood, looking disheveled, his golden-brown hair in disarray and his red tunic ruffled, and was staring into an open doorway. 

“Could you keep it down?” Adrien grumbled, rubbing the sides of his forehead with his thumbs, examining his cousin with slitted eyes. 

A muffled affirmative was heard from his left, and he turned to see Elias’s on-again off-again partner, Miranda shoving her head down under the knitted blanket from the couch next to him. 

Elias whipped around; his hazel eyes wide in an expression of… horror? Fear? But before Adrien could process it through his blurred vision, the expression was replaced with a careful smirk in his direction. 

“Sorry, cousin,” Eli strolled forward, his tunic sleeves pulled up to reveal his tattoos. He plopped down on the couch next to Miranda, tucking his feet under the blankets with her.

Adrien stretched his arms above his head. He debated on investigating whatever Eli was trying to hide but, he found himself lacking a few give-a-shits this morning. “I’m going back to bed for a couple hours,” he muttered, and then set off towards his bedroom, which he realized with some confusion was the room that Elias had been staring into, muttering to himself. 

Blech. Whatever. He continued on. 

Before he made it past the couch, Eli had stretched out his left wing to stop him, blocking his way to the open door of his bedroom. 

“Oh no you don’t, did you forget that we are all going to the High Lord’s gathering today?” Eli’s voice was a little hoarse, something that was odd for him, even hungover. “Have some breakfast. I have the wraiths bringing up the usual fare, and then we should get washed up before your father comes to get us.”

_Oh. Shit. _“Right,” Adrien muttered again, wishing his headache away. He had already forgotten… where was Liv? She was always better at this stuff than him. He wanted to talk to her about it before they left, devise a strategy... “Let me get dressed first, I need to clean my mouth out and chew on some peppermint. I feel like there’s a caterpillar in my mouth.” 

As he stumbled around Elias’s giant wing towards his bedroom, Elias jumped up behind him. Adrien ignored him this time, brushing a hand through his hair and squinting in the light. The High Fae were never hungover for long, but cauldron, he must have over done it the night before. “What happened? I can’t remember anything after we got to-“

He stopped in his tracks, staring into his bedroom, at his _own bed_ with an open mouth. 

“Adrien- just _hold on_ for a _minute_-“ Elias been muttering behind him, a hand reaching towards his shoulder.

“What the _fuck-“ _

Two forms were laying on top of _his bed_, on his favorite black silk sheets. The one was smaller, undeniably female, with wild, curly blue-black hair, wearing a black male tunic and nothing else, her olive-toned legs spread out across his bed. Her red lipstick was long gone, but the dark kohl around her eyes had smeared, making her eyes look oddly large as she snored quietly. And next to her, his face looking strange in its relaxed form, and buried into the crook of her neck, lay his _shirtless_, shadowsinging godfather and uncle of a sort. His dark hair was a mess, and his wings were flung out from where he lay on his stomach, partially covering Livana’s form, and a lazy hand was lightly touching her waist.

Azriel and Liv were curled up in _his_ bed. Barely clothed. And snuggled together like lovers. 

Adrien found that his aches, nausea and headache was nothing compared with the searing flame that cut through his mind. 

Adrien was drawling the night into him, a frigid nighttime filling the air around him as he gritted his teeth. It was a night made of anger but also restraint. “Adrien- why don’t we just talk to them,” Eli was pleading quietly behind him. 

Adrien just glared at him with a cutting gaze that he knew he shared with his mother and aunt, and Eli was quickly silenced. With a look that Adrien shared with Eli’s own mother, there was little he could do to argue with Adrien. Eli simply shook out his wings, sighing in a resigned way, and stood at his side. Adrien reached out a tendril of the darkness, crossing his arms across his chest. His father, he noted, had always stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his intent, but Adrien had learned that it didn’t always benefit him to _hide_ his intent. So, Adrien kept his hands out, fisted on either side of his ribcage, his gaze guarded. 

And, with a little concentration his darkness became a wide whip, and with a sharp _snap_ the couple was jolted awake by the sound that cracked the air above them. 

Livana stirred first, groaning quietly, and peeking her eyes open slowly… but when she noted the creeping darkness slowly filling Adrien’s room, she sat up quickly, pulling Azriel’s tunic down to cover her private parts and pushing a large Illyrian wing off of her in one swift movement. 

Azriel shuttered as her hand brushed over his wings, in a way that any Illyrian would, and then he woke up all at once. One moment, he was shuttering, laying on his stomach and touching her waist but in a blink of an eye he was sitting up, looking at Adrien and Elias with a careful expression, his shadows flaring out from him as if they sensed danger. There was no inkling of alcohol, of tiredness or sleep left on the spymaster’s face. 

No one said anything and Livana just stared at her brother with eyes narrowed. Adrien maintained her gaze, his face carefully calm, arms crossed over his chest. Elias looked between the group of them. And Azriel looked at Adrien as if he was a threat that needed to be neutralized. His face was all calm, all precision, all shadowy determination. 

Adrien began first, “Can I ask why my godfather and my _sister_ are laying in _my bed _in _my bedroom?” _

Livana spoke first, “Adrien-“

Adrien turned his gaze on her, raising his eyebrows, “Sister, I really wasn’t talking to you.”

Livana snapped her mouth shut in a bitter snarl, crossing her arms over her chest. Adrien looked pointedly away from her, turning his stormy gaze back to his godfather. 

Azriel turned his sharp gaze away from Adrien, to look at Livana, “I’m not sure. I don’t remember anything after…”

His voice trailed off, and as they looked at each other. Livana’s cheeks grew pink, even threw her scowl. She was actually _blushing._

“Oh, mother.” Adrien looked at the ceiling, unable to look at them both. His night sky swirled around him with his emotions, but he appreciated the presence even if it gave him away.

A moment passed, and then he felt his sister’s night mixing with his turmoil, trying to calm, to sooth. “Adrien, I’m not sure what to say.” 

His darkness crackled again, lightning passing through the stormy sky around him. He felt Elias shifting his wings uncomfortably behind him. “Don’t say anything. Just get out. Leave me a moment with _our godfather_, Liv.” 

Maybe he was imagining it, but maybe his voice did sound a _little_ like his fathers when he wanted it to. 

Liv opened her mouth to argue, her violet eyes burning strangely, but before she spoke, Azriel did, “Go.” 

She looked at Azriel for a moment, but he saw the moment her face changed to determination, “Adrien, it’s really none of your-”

“Go.” Both Adrien and Azriel spoke at the same time. Livana looked between them furiously, but after a moment she snarled, standing from the bed. She didn’t bother to pull Azriel’s tunic down to cover her nearly bare bottom and padded barefoot out of his room with the poise of princess. He swore he could hear the words _“Bloody Illyrian males… don’t know when to keep their noses in their own business…” _rather loudly being shouted at him from outside the obsidian fortress of his mind. 

As she passed the tattoos visible on her legs shimmered strangely, like power was roiling beneath her skin. 

When she reached the doorway, she turned to call over her shoulder, “Don’t be too long. Father is coming to fetch us soon, and I think we would all rather keep him out of _this_ particular situation.” Her voice held more order in it than he would have liked. 

Azriel said nothing, but Adrien let out a growl that he knew she could hear. 

Elias turned to follow her, and before he shut the door behind him, he muttered to them, “No fighting. Your mother will have a conniption if she has to replace your rug or bed one more time.” 

Adrien only looked at his cousin for a moment before turning his gaze back to look at Azriel who now stood at the end of his bed, looking oddly calm for someone who was standing shirtless in a room other than his own. As the door clicked shut behind them, Adrien slung out his power to shove Azriel against the back wall of his bedroom, striding forward with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Azriel hit the wall near the window with a _crack_ but, handled it rather well. He only let a growl slide out between his bared teeth, but his shadows stayed close. As Adrien approached, he swore he could hear whispers just outside his hearing. Still, he felt shadows other his own gathering around his feet, not unlike a cat. He wondered if that was Azriel control, or if the shadows recognized him as some kind of master. 

Adrien stopped only when he was inches from Azriel’s face. 

“I want to know what you are playing at, _spymaster,” _Adrien growled, his voice low and deadly. He let his power fill the room, and while it was not a mountain of power like his father’s, he knew that he was deadly enough. While Azriel’s shadows swirled, Adrien’s power was a shimmering night, eating the light of day alive.

Azriel stared at him, only shifting uncomfortably from where he was pinned to the wall, his teeth bared defensively, “I’m not sure what you mean.” Of course, Azriel was used to doing the questioning. He would know exactly how to manage this situation. 

Adrien bared his teeth, “You know exactly what I mean. She is a _child_ compared to you. You are her _godfather_, supposed to be like her _uncle_, and yet you’re working your way into her bed. I should be the last person explaining this to you, but as it seems that no one else will-” Adrien took a deep breath, stopping himself. His power was choking him, and he tried to stay in control, keeping the night from escaping every pour in his body. 

Azriel said nothing, but simply waited for Adrien regain control. Azriel had trained him, just as Cassian and even Rhys had and probably knew him almost as well as he knew himself. That did nothing to control the fury coursing through his body. 

“You are supposed to protect her. You are supposed to be there for her when we are not. You are supposed to cherish her and love her like a second father would. You are _not_ supposed to take advantage of her. She may be strong, she may seem different than the females you are used to, more Illyrian, less High Fae, but none the less is still _female. _She is still the daughter of your _best friend_. She is a girl, a child, and she does not need you complicating her life. Do you understand?”

Adrien could see the anger rising in the male before him, he could see it in the way the shadows swirled, tightening against the pair of them. He could see it in the rise of Azriel’s chest, in the tone of his jaw. 

“I do cherish her. I do love her. She is strong, and she is different, and she is Illyrian and she is High Fae and she is everything I want in the world.” Azriel spoke quietly, a reverence and anger in his voice. His hazel eyes were burning. “I know that she does not need me _complicating _her life. Her life is already complicated enough. And she is no longer a child, although I know you and Rhys will always see her that way. Liv is much more than that.” 

Adrien froze, wondering if he heard things correctly. “You love her?” 

A moment passed. He could hear the truth in Azriel’s words, the meaning beneath the words. He could feel as his own anger faded, the night sky fading with it. 

When Azriel replied, his voice was hoarse, his throat bobbing, “I know I shouldn’t. I know she deserves… so much more than I can offer her. She deserves someone who was made for her, made to please her and to serve her, like what my brothers have.” Azriel paused, and seemed to be struggling with his breath, seemed to be struggling with his shadows on his own. Adrien let go of his hold on him, stepping away as the shadows clinging to Azriel swirled and stuttered. “It doesn’t change the fact that I do. Love her.” 

Adrien let an absurd laugh bubble in his chest, “Cauldron,” he threaded his hand through his hair again, turning away from his godfather. 

Azriel said nothing. 

“Does the age difference not bother you? By the fates, you saw her in diapers. You were there for her birth,” Adrien muttered, feeling his headache again. He wandered to his bed, and sat on the side of it, his elbows on his knees, staring at his floor. His wings had fought themselves out of their banishment sometime during the argument, and they stretched out behind him. 

“No. I think… she was gone for a long time. You both were. And when you both returned, grown… I know she is young. And I do not think…” Azriel trailed off again. His voice was soft, his breath even again even as his thoughts were disorganized. When Adrien looked up at him, he didn’t see his godfather. He didn’t see a spymaster. He saw an old soul, a male who had been alone for a very long time. 

“I do not believe she returns the same feelings I have for her. She doesn’t know. I’ve been trying to stay away from her.” 

“Were you?” Adrien snorted, “I don’t think you were trying very hard.” 

Azriel looked pained for a moment, “Perhaps I could have tried harder. I’m sorry.” He fluttered his wings uncomfortably, a gesture that Adrien had never seen from the spymaster. 

“Does father know?” 

“Of course not. And I don’t plan on telling him. I value our relationship… and my genitals.” Azriel added drily. 

He held back a snort at the thought. Keeping things from the High Lord of the Night Court was a nearly impossible prospect, but he supposed if anyone could it would be Azriel. Adrien looked at his hands clasped between his knees. A moment passed again. “Do you plan on continuing… whatever this is between you both?” 

“No. I never meant for things to get this far. I do not deserve her.” 

Adrien looked up at him sharply. The male who stood before him looked cool, calm and collected, although the shaking in his voice betrayed him. “I… I wish things were different,” Adrien said finally. But that wasn’t it, it wasn’t that Azriel didn’t deserve her but… well, things were complicated. 

And he did. Wish things weren’t so complicated. He wished that Livana could be a female Illyrian warrior without having to prove herself at every turn. He wished they weren’t the children of a High Lord, and he wished the Azriel wasn’t a spymaster with hundreds of years over her. He wished that Livana had the freedom to make mistakes, to love freely. He wished that Azriel didn’t feel like he didn’t deserve her, and he wished over all that… things were different. 

Azriel nodded, and stood with his arms loose at his side, his wings… dropped down, nearly touching the floor. He looked defeated. It wasn’t a look Adrien had seen from the spymaster, well… ever. 

“I had thought that the mating bond would have kicked in by now. I had thought for sure it would kick in last night.”

Adrien said nothing, but just watched his uncle. And thought, well. It would have been nice. 

Liv deserved a mate, someone who was her equal. Someone who could love her and respect her and could match her in wit and strength. 

A moment passed, and then, Azriel spoke, “I would appreciate it if you mention this to no one. And let Eli know the same. And… tell Liv that... well. Don’t tell her anything. We do not need any more distractions today.” He gave a wiry smile. 

“You’re going?” Adrien asked, surprised.

“Yes. Your uncle and I are both joining your father. Eli too. It seems that Rhys wanted some extra… support since you both will be there.” 

Adrien gritted his teeth and turned his gaze to the black threads mixed with silver in a rug that took up most of his room. Azriel approached him slowly, obviously unsure how to fill the role of godfather and whatever he was now with Liv simultaneously.

He obviously thought for a minute before he gripped his shoulder before he headed for the door, “Do not let it bother you so. He knows that you are both strong, and that you are able to defend yourself. But Rhys… our High Lord, had lost a great amount in the beginning of his life. And he does not want to lose it again.” 

Adrien said nothing.

Before Azriel closed the door behind him, he heard the smile on Azriel’s lips as he spoke, “Hot tea with honey is an excellent hangover cure. Especially if you ask Nuala for her own remedy for hangovers to mix in with it. Trust me, you do not want to be in a room with a group of ancient males with behemoth egos while your head is pounding.” 

When Azriel left, the room felt oddly empty. The pale morning light was starting to thicken as the day started, filling his room with a buttery light. 

Despite himself, before he slipped into the spiced water the wraiths had already drawn for him, he connected with the swirling abyss that was Nuala’s mind, shamelessly asking for tea and a hangover cure. 

He knew better than to take advice like that for granted. 

* * *

When Adrien emerged from his room, he felt a thousand times better than he had any hour earlier thanks to his tub, a new set of cloths and that delightful tea. He had put on his best tunic, a navy-blue tunic with careful silver detailing of the stars and moon covering nearly every inch of fabric with complimenting silver buttons. He had on black pants, as was traditional, and a pair of silver boots. He had even shaved and was delighted to note that the dark circles under his eyes had faded sometime after he climbed out of his bath. To finish, he had taken a thin silver crown from the family collection, a favorite of his. It was thin and simple, just the right size for a male and had a crescent moon with a silver star resting in its limbs as the only detailing. It was different than his parent’s preferred crowns, and much tamer than Liv’s traditional diadem made of a thousand stars and filled with countless shining diamonds. 

He settled in the parlor shared by his sister and cousin, waiting on the others to return from their own rooms for a quick breakfast before his father fetched him. He noted that Miranda was noticeably missing now, although one of her slippers remained half hidden under the couch. He wondered if she had left in a hurry, or if she joined his cousin somewhere even now. He sipped on another cup of hot honeyed tea while he waited and drew a book he had been working on from the in between, flipping lazily to the last page he had read. 

Liv appeared first, the circles under her eyes still noticeable, although she had obviously washed the grime of the night from her face. She was paler than usual, but radiant despite that in a loose gown of silver silk that cinched at her waist with a silver belt, matching stars to go with her crown. Her arms were bare, showing off the swirling and shimmering tattoos that cascaded down her arms. Her diadem rested carefully on her head; her unruly hair pulled into a careful braided crown that created the perfect platform for her jewelry. 

She glanced up at Adrien, a small frown on her lips, but she sunk into the seat across from him. 

“I hope you save the lecture for another day,” she muttered, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples much in the same way Adrien did when his head hurt. It must be a family trait, he mused. 

Adrien smirked, “Not quite. But let’s not mention it, not yet. Especially in front of you-know-who.” He poured her a glass of the honeyed tea and pushed it towards her, “Drink this, it will help. Trust me.” 

Liv grumbled, examining the floating herbs in the brown liquid skeptically, “Like we could keep anything from him if we tried. _What_ is that?” She asked glaring at the floating herbs in the concoction, even as she lifted the tea to her lips.

Adrien shrugged, “Not sure. Worked for me though. You can thank our _godfather_ for that.” Livana glared at him from over the cup she held to her lips, her violet eyes sparkling almost as much as the diadem on her head. 

Adrien returned to his book while they waited, and his cousin, pulling a red-faced Miranda along behind him, appeared next. Miranda’s hair was wet, and she curtseyed to them both before she scrambled for her slippers. She seemed unable to look them in the eye. 

Livana giggled, “Your other shoe is under the couch. I can see it from here.” 

Miranda blushed a brighter red than even before, “Thank you, my lady.” She slipped her shoes on, and before anyone could say another word she shot for the door.

Elias grabbed her before she could make her escape, pulling her in for a long kiss that made Adrien gag and Liv snort into her tea, “A pleasure as always, love.” Elias whispered loudly, and Adrien wondered if her hair would catch fire as she practically ran for the door. 

Elias looked after her with a smirk, and then settled in a third chair at the table with his cousins. He was dressed handsomely, as well, although his tunic was a more practical black, and a double baldric of thin Illyrian knives were already strung across his chest. He wore no diadem, no symbol of his status of Illyrian Warrior, except for the few buttons he left open at the top of his tunic to show off his new tattoos. His wings settled carefully into the chair designed for that purpose. He popped a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and decided that was the best time to talk, “So, how was your morning, cousin? Feeling better?” His words were barely legible, and Adrien suspected it was only years of practice that allowed him to understand him.

“Lovely,” Livana answered, her answer short and sarcastic.

Adrien snorted, “Much better now that I have some food and drink in me. So, scale of one to ten, how bad is today going to blow?” 

“At least eleven,” Livana answered while Eli managed to mime fifteen with his fingers. 

“Great. Any bets this round?” Adrien asked, closing his book and sending it back into the in between as he sensed the approach of a greatly fortressed mind that could only be his fathers. They had always bet on what would go awry during meetings between the High Lord’s, the human Queen’s and even their own council of elders in Velaris. Meetings were often unbearably boring, so it was a way to pass the monotony.

Eli struggled to swallow his food, so Liv answered for him, “Only that Beron’s son’s will be pissing all over me as a _female_ who isn’t even a High Lady being allowed to attend this meeting.” They had never met Beron or his son’s, other than Lucien, if he counted, but they had all been well versed on the ruler’s of Prythian. 

Eli added, slightly out of breath, “At least one fight.”

“Between who?” Liv asked, leaning forward. Her nails clicked along the table, a small smile on her lips. 

“Oh, I don’t know. But it’ll happen. Mark my words, someone will have their face bashed in by the end of the day.” 

“My money is on Tamlin,” Adrien smirked, leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think the money has ever been on Tamlin, son,” a deep voice drawled behind him, and they all sat up straighter as their High Lord approached. Rhys ran a casual court, his Inner Circle consisting of his friends and family but at the end of the day, Rhys was still his father. And had kicked his ass for his disrespect more than once as he grew up. Eli and Livana included, although Liv noticeably less than the boys. 

Adrien had never actually met Tamlin, although he had crossed paths at least briefly with quite a few of the other High Lord’s. Lucien, as Helion’s son and heir was around often as they grew up, as well as Tarquin and Kallias. Still though, it had only been in passing, and Liv had barely been able to fly the last time he saw a High Lord in Velaris. It wasn’t that they didn’t visit… but Adrien, Liv and Elias had all spent much of their childhood in Windhaven. 

He knew Velaris should feel like his home, but he wondered sometimes if his powers were just a trick. If it wasn’t for how he looked, he would have wondered if he truly was a High Lord’s son. He felt like he belonged more in the Illyrian camps, in the mud and in the sky. The snow soft against his wings, the wind calling to him, the scent of pine marking every breath. That was more of a home to him than this gilded palace on the riverbanks of the Sidra. He loved his family, but if he lived in a shack in the Illyrian mountains, nothing but a burning fire and his books and occasional visits from his sister and cousin… that would be enough for him. 

Liv had always been the one who had been more the diplomat. She was the one who made friends with every breath, she was the one who sparkled, who showed the power and kindness and beauty of the Night Court all in one. 

Even now, she lit up as her father approached, her back straight and poised as she set down her cup. Every inch the princess, every bit the heir of the Night Court. But she wasn’t the heir. 

He was. 

Rhys approached their table, and as Adrien turned his gaze to his father, he was pleased to note that his father wore a black tunic with matching embroidery to his own, the detail shining and exquisite. On his head sat his favorite crown, his dark power brushing around the crown itself as it sat on his blue-black hair that he shared with his children. From behind him, Lucien approached as well. He must be coming as well, as he was dressed in a golden tunic with the embroidery of suns covering every inch, the neck bordered by a giant radiant sun. It made his golden eye more noticeable than ever, and Lucien kept a casual smirk on his lips as he came to rest next to Rhys. 

“Making bets, I see. If you are talking about fights, my bets are on my half-brothers in the Autumn Court. They have been fighting for dominance for years,” Lucien drawled. 

Rhys gave a small smile that didn’t touch his eyes. His hands were in his pockets. Adrien recognized the gesture of nerves. 

“How’s mother?” Adrien asked his father. Liv and Eli slipped their gaze to Rhys as well.

His father was silent for a moment too long, “Much of the same.”

Eli turned his gaze back to his food, but Liv and Adrien exchanged gazes for a moment. Something was worse. Rhys was an excellent liar, but Liv and Adrien knew him too well to recognize his lie for anything but. Their father didn’t want to leave her. 

“Are you done eating? I want to be on my way. Our meeting is in Autumn Court, and I do not much like being there much longer than I have to be. Beron is a slippery son of a bitch.” 

“What about Az and Cassian?” Adrien couldn’t help but ask. Rhys looked at him curiously with the same violet eyes that belonged to his sister. Shit. He guessed he wasn’t supposed to know that, but to his relief, he didn’t feel the grasp of his father’s talons on his mind. Regardless, he added a few layers of obsidian to his shield. 

“They are already there, waiting for us. It is wise to have your soldiers to go on first to gather intelligence before you put yourself in a precarious situation.” 

Yes. Adrien knew this. Honestly, it was insulting, one of the first lessons Cassian had taught him about war. But… this meeting was supposed to be just that, correct? A meeting? Not war. 

Adrien nodded once, trying to keep his thoughts off his face. Cool, calm, collected. Deadly when necessary. That was what the Night Court was, that was what his father had taught him. 

Livana also nodded across from him and stood. 

Adrien stood then as well, Eli following behind him. Adrien tried not to be annoyed at the fact that she stood first, it was silly, really, just etiquette but-

“Livana. I enjoy your enthusiasm, love, but I want you to remember that you should act in… subservience to your brother. I normally would not care but our enemies and allies alike will be examining our court, and your brother for weaknesses. As first born, and heir, he should be only secondary to me.” His father smiled wanly this time, and Adrien felt something hot behind his face. “A High Lord demands respect, and if I am gone, I want to know that you can do this, Adrien. I know you are strong, but there is a different kind of strength required of a High Lord.”

Lucien was watching the whole exchange with a carefully blank expression. He knew the word _subservience _made her burn, but she did an excellent job at hiding his emotions. Regardless, he hated every part of this. 

Adrien spoke first, knowing his sister would be waiting until he spoke, “Yes, father. I know that I can do this.” Did he? Could he do this? Did he even _want to? _ He felt like a rock was sinking through his stomach. 

Livana spoke next, her voice quieter than usual, “Yes, father. I apologize. It has been a while since I have been home, and I forget myself. It will not happen again.” 

Adrien swallowed, hoping his face wasn’t too pale. Her reply was so much more eloquent than his own. 

Why did he have to be heir? Why was it him, when she was so much better suited for it? And how did they really even know that _he _was the heir? His parents could have more children… and his mother was High Lady. What would stop his sister from being the born, not made, High Lady? She was already the first Illyrian female warrior. 

Adrien shoved these thoughts back, and instead turned his father, his hands clasped behind his back, “When do we leave?” 

Rhys smiled at him then, his smile perhaps a little more genuine. “Now, if you are ready.” 

“I am ready, father.” his voice was hoarse, and he tried to believe his own self confidence. 

He tried not to wince as he felt his father’s talons scrap across the fortress of his mind, and he perhaps felt a little smug when Livana winced visibly as she battled the same attack. His father’s talons bounced harmlessly from his obsidian wall. 

“Yes, indeed you are. Very good, Adrien. Livana, very good, but there are a few weak spots in your defenses,” Rhysand spoke. At least that was one thing Adrien had always been better at… controlling his mind. 

Livana nodded and grabbed Eli’s arm as she prepared to winnow. Lucien would be first, then Livana and Eli, then Adrien, and lastly, Rhysand would winnow in behind them. 

The Night Court always did enjoy making an entrance. 

“Shall we?” Lucien drawled, winking. 

“We shall,” came Rhys’s tight answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos seriously help so much. They make my day. I'm actually blown away by the love for my story thus far (I didn't think many people would be interested in my OCs because I rarely read stories with OCs) so THANK YOU! Ya'll are amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay!
> 
> Let me know what you think please.


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